


Dancing on His Own

by Writcraft



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Activism, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Clubbing, Dirty Talk, First Time, Hand Jobs, Humor, M/M, Praise Kink, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 04:06:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8782306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: Under the decadent lights of London’s gay bars, Draco and Harry find one another again after years of searching.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leontina (Leontina)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leontina/gifts).



> Such a treat to write for your super prompts, Leontinabowie! We have many favourites in common, not just these two gorgeous boys. I thoroughly enjoyed making a clubbing playlist and writing you this bit of club!fic flangst with a very happy ending indeed! Title is, of course, inspired by Robyn’s queer club classic ‘Dancing on my Own’ and the quote at the start is Sigala’s summer hit. I hope you enjoy it. Happy holidays.

_Your sweet, sweet loving, won't you put it on me?_  
Keep me coming 'cause you're all that I need  
You give me love, I'll give you everything that you want  
As long as you love me 

_\- Sigala, Sweet Lovin’_

**Draco**

It’s been a year of night blurring into day. The sun never shines as strongly or as sweetly as it does on those mornings after the night before. I carry the words of my favourite queens on my tongue and everything is _fabulous, darling_. Muggles lose their minds over an attractive blond with an eye for Muggle fashion. They tell me I’m going to make it in the city. I pretend I already have. I’ve got enough money from father’s investments to buy the odd bottle of something fizzy and toast to a decadent youth. 

I avoid the pills in Vauxhall. I keep my wits about me and speak to the regulars at Comptons or the Admiral Duncan. Have you seen the loos in there? Worse than the Leaky. Sometimes I think I see him, half-way across a crowded room. A shock of messy hair and a quick flash of green eyes and I’m pulled through heaving bodies like a moth to a flame. 

If I’m not in Vauxhall for a night of forgetting, what do I go there for? Just for the late night dancing and the opportunity to walk home over Chelsea Bridge. I love the smell of the river and rain on a cold London morning. There’s nothing like turning your tired eyes up to the sky and letting yourself get soaked by an inconsiderate shower. If I take a look in the saunas on my way home, it’s never to fuck. I just always think I might find Potter squeezing his eyes shut and on his knees. I never do. 

Some nights I think I’m so close I can almost taste him, but it’s never Potter. It’s just another beautiful boy that isn’t half as interesting or important. I buy them a drink and sometimes let them blow me, if they like. I close my eyes and think about Potter. He occupies far too many of my thoughts these days and when I ask Weasley where he disappeared to, he’s always shifty and uncertain. He knows, but he’s not spilling the details. He looks confused, like he doesn’t know why I care. Sometimes, I’m not sure either. Maybe because Potter turned out to be as queer as I did. Perhaps it’s because there was a time when we were just boys who stretched out on the damp grass in the shadows of the Hogwarts turrets. Even then, he thought he was straight. He’d let me slide my fingers against his hand until he shivered and trembled, before firming his jaw and talking about something distinctly heterosexual.

 _I just want to be normal_ , he’d say. Like he didn’t know that there’s nothing more captivating than the very things that make him special. Those things that make him _Harry Potter_. Normal’s boring. I’d rather be dead, than normal.

I love London but it’s far too easy to lose yourself in a crowd. That’s what Potter’s doing, don’t think I don’t know. I read all about the break-up in the _Prophet_ and the article by a prick of a wizard ranting about Potter’s sexuality before he even had chance to define himself. I’ll strangle that little twink myself if he ever crosses my path. Idiot. They call _me_ a twink. The Muggles, I mean. Can you believe it? I’m Draco Malfoy, for fucks sake. When I tell them I’m not _actually_ a bottom, some of them laugh. Fuck them. I don’t care what people think about my sexual preferences. I’m not even fucking people these days. I’m on a mission all of my own and it’s taking me back to the very beginning.

Harry Potter.

Do you remember him?

I do. 

I remember everything.

*

**Harry**

I never thought I’d live long enough to be a reckless twenty-something. I never dreamed I’d be alive to discover a taste for beautiful boys and restless, grinding hips hot and hard against my own. Then again, I never thought I’d be outed in the _Prophet_ after a rubbish fumble I can barely even remember. That caused some controversy. I’ve avoided a lot of the old haunts since then. I prefer the Muggle places where nobody knows my name. There I can be _Bill_ or _Charlie_. Not Fred. Never Fred. Merlin, I miss him. I miss all of them, so much it hurts. 

I’m a crap dancer but the brilliant thing about Muggle clubs is they’re always so packed I just have to move around a bit. I don’t have to do anything daft. Most of the time I can just wave my hands above my head or point at the ceiling, mouthing along to all the words. Most Muggles are just as bad at dancing as I am and nobody seems to care if my t-shirt’s tight and I’m smiling like I’m having the best time. Sometimes, I even think I am. I can lose myself on a crowded dancefloor and let the Muggle music fill my senses. Some nights it’s like a magic all of its own. I’ve stopped taking my wand out. I just knock back rum and coke and dance until dawn. I don’t think anyone’s going to be hunting for the Boy Who Lived somewhere like The Royal Vauxhall Tavern or G-A-Y.

I don’t know why I think I’m going to find what I’m missing under a disco ball or a strobe light. I’m not sure I even know what’s missing. It’s not going to be forever – this timeless dancing the nights away. It’s not forever, but it’s for now. That’s something I never thought I’d get to have, so I’m just going to enjoy it for a while. Snog a bit and maybe get someone off in the loos. I can’t go further, though. I don’t know why. Everyone thinks I’m a top for a start and I can’t really tell them otherwise after pretending I spent most of my teen years fucking the football team instead of fighting a war. You don’t need to trust someone to wank them off somewhere anyone could walk in. It’s part of the thrill of it. Kissing, rubbing and grinding until you’re both shaking and five minutes later they’re gone. Just an alcohol sweet kiss whose taste lingers longer than the name. 

I’ve got a preference for blonds. I blame Malfoy for that. Malfoy and his cigarette-smoky breath and the way he used to rest over me and listen to me talk about the war. I let him see me cry once and I hated everything about that moment. I thought he’d laugh or tell me to stop, but he didn’t.

He looked like he wanted to kiss me.

I sometimes wish I’d let him.

*

**Draco**

I’m sure we’re just missing each other. When I’m in Heaven, Potter’s dancing up a storm at G-A-Y. When I’m in Vauxhall, Potter’s ventured out to Dalston to be gay with all the hipsters. They know him in the regular haunts. They think they’ve seen someone ‘like that’ in The Two Brewers. It irritates me. They’d remember him, if they had seen him. They should.

He’s pretty difficult to forget.

\+ + +

Draco lounges against the bar, talking to the barman but keeping his eyes on the room. There’s a peculiar excitement furling in his stomach and something tells him _this is the night_. He downs the last of his drink and makes his way across the streets. Soho on a Friday night is ridiculous. People spill out of bars and clubs and people stumble along the streets with glasses in their hands. There’s no standing room outside Comptons and the people inside spill out onto the streets, barely noticing the way the horns beep as impatient taxi drivers and rickshaws try to make their way through London. Someone tries to sell him a rose for a fiver and he tells them to fuck off. It’s not like he has anyone to buy roses for, these days.

He's not fond of Friday nights. He prefers the music during the week and the solitude of having a usually heaving bar all to himself. He can’t be bothered to fight his way through half-dressed hen parties or groups of laughing stags. It’s boring, Soho during the weekend and it’s not nearly as gay as it should be which always disappoints. He prefers the places which are less commercial these days. The last thing he needs is a Muggle throwing up on his ludicrously expensive shoes. Draco’s in the queue for The Village, pushing his way impatiently to the front when he sees him.

_Potter_

Through steamy windows, there he is. Just like that, holding something sweet with a Muggle cocktail umbrella poking out of the glass. He’s looking up at a go-go dance, his eyes wide. Draco’s brain short-circuits for a moment and for one dizzying breath he thinks about walking away. He could. He could leave this place and the busy streets to Potter and the Muggles. He could, but he won’t. There’s something hungry, desperate and almost haunted in Potter’s eyes and Draco’s not about to walk away from _that_. 

With a low mutter of annoyance, he finally pushes his way to the front and flashes the bouncer his most charming smile. She rolls her eyes (probably a lesbian) but lets him in nevertheless. He tips his head in thanks and then the sweaty warmth of the club hits him. He shoves his way through the crowds, never taking his eyes off Potter. Finally, he’s just behind him and there’s no mistake this time. Potter smells warm and familiar - his body the strong warmth Draco remembers from so long ago. He can almost taste Potter’s magic on his tongue and it’s _divine_.

“Fancy seeing you here.” He’s thought about this moment for so long, you’d almost expect him to have come up with a clever opening line. He’s not interested in being anything other than himself in this moment, though. He makes his voice low enough that only Potter can hear, his lips tantalisingly close to Potter’s left ear. Even that’s more charming than it has any right to be, and Draco finds his body reacting with eager readiness to Potter’s proximity.

“Malfoy?” Potter sounds unsure, as if maybe he’s imagining it. Draco presses closer to assure Potter he really isn’t.

“The very same.”

“ _Oh_.” There’s something all too heady about the way Potter exhales. He’s better than any drink or the rush of magic after a well-cast spell. He’s turning then, right in Draco’s space. Pressed back against the bar, go-go boy forgotten. He looks as good as ever. There’s a little rough stubble around his chin but he’s otherwise just as he was – messy hair and glasses with thick, black rims and distressingly green eyes. The faint trace of a scar on his forehead and slender, toned arms exposed by his t-shirt which is tight and rolled up at the sleeves. His body seems to jut forward almost as if he’s not in control of it anymore and as if he’s been looking for Draco all of this time too.

Draco catches him, keeping him close. He wraps his arm around Potter’s waist and breathes him in. He’s delicious. Masculine, salty and sweet. His cologne is new – probably Muggle. It suits him. He’s got that scent that’s indistinguishably Potter though and that’s what Draco breathes in when he moves to Potter’s neck and brushes his lips against the heated skin.

_Christ._

Harry.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he manages to murmur against Potter’s jumping pulse.

“You have?” Potter sounds a little faint, his fingers gripping Draco’s hips as he urges him closer until their bodies are fused together. “I’ve…been looking for you too.” He sounds surprised, as if he’s only just realised it.

“I’ve been here. You just haven’t been looking hard enough.” The people at the bar jostle them and Potter’s drink sloshes over them both. It’s something sweet and sugary, the scent filling Draco’s nostrils. He takes the plastic cup and puts it down, pulling back so he can see Potter properly. “Want to get out of here?”

Potter’s lips twitch and he tips his head to the side. “You’ve only just got here. Everywhere’s rammed tonight.”

“I know a place.” Draco holds onto Potter’s hand and tugs him through the crowd. “It’s still a gay bar, don’t worry. I’ll let you dance with me.”

“I’m not worrying.” Potter squeezes Draco’s hand and they move out of the club into the night.

*

Draco watches Potter go ahead of him into the small bar. He knows this place like the back of his hand. When he sits down, they’ll bring him mojitos and empanadas. He hopes Potter likes it as much as he does, with its rickety stools and paint-worn table surfaces. He thinks Potter will. It seems like a very Potter-ish sort of place. Perhaps that’s why he’s so fond of it.

“Come here often?” Potter gnaws at his thumbnail, watching Draco as the waitress gives him a hug and brings four enormous cocktails to the table. It’s always two-for-one happy hour for Draco when he visits. He’s got them all thoroughly charmed. Potter’s eyes shine and his gaze lingers on the exposed collarbone on Draco’s neck, trailing down and then up again to meet Draco’s stare.

“A bit.” Draco shrugs and clinks his glass against Harry’s, sipping out of the straw. “Like it?”

“I really do.” Potter looks around curiously, taking in the Muggle trinkets and old sign-posts on the wall. “I wouldn’t have thought this would be your thing.”

“No?” Draco tries not to sound huffy. “What did you expect?”

“I don’t know.” Potter shrugs and he gives Draco a grin. “Champagne at the Connaught?”

“Only on Sunday afternoons.” Draco flushes because he might be fond of an odd glass of something fizzy at a posh Knightsbridge hotel bar when he’s not haring all over the place trying to find the lesser-spotted-Potter. Rare bird that he is. 

“I thought so.” Potter bites into an empanada and lets out a sinful groan. Draco adjusts himself in his trousers and takes another delicate sip of his cocktail. He definitely wants to hear Potter make that kind of noise again. “Where else do you go? I’m surprised we haven’t bumped into each other before now. I’m in Soho all the time.”

“Vauxhall too?”

“Vauxhall, Clapham, East London when I’m feeling edgy…”

“Get around a bit, don’t you?”

Potter’s cheeks flush invitingly. “Not really. Not as much as you probably think. You?”

“Not these days.” Draco shrugs. “I’m a bit bored with Muggles. I’ve been looking for something that can hold my interest for a bit longer than a blowjob in the toilets.”

“Same.” Potter laughs and he looks up, his eyes shining. “Handjobs, in my case.”

Draco snorts, swallowing back the jealousy which pulses through his body. “I read about that twink of yours.”

“Oh.” Potter’s eyes cloud and he pulls a face. “Not really _mine_. It wasn’t quite the night he described. He didn’t fuck me for a start.”

“No?” Intrigued, Draco inches his fingers closer to Potter’s. “You don’t like that?”

“Dunno, do I?” Potter takes a breath but still meets Draco’s gaze. “I think I might.”

The thought of showing Potter the many pleasures of being fucked has Draco shifting in his seat again. “They think I’m a twink and a shameless bottom. Those old queens at the Tavern call me Justin Bieber.”

“They do?” Potter snorts with laughter, giving Draco an appraising look before leaning forward. “They think _I’m_ a top. Apparently I look like one of the Jonas brothers, whoever the fuck they are.”

Draco’s nearly breathless and a slightly strangled sound leaves his lips. He gives Potter’s hand a quick squeeze before returning to his cocktail. “You’re not a top?”

“Wouldn’t mind trying it, I suppose.” Potter gives Draco another delicious look. “But no.”

Draco sips his cocktail mainly to banish the thought of Potter bent over his chaise-lounge from his mind. “That article wasn’t all bad. Apparently your wand’s particularly impressive.”

There it is. That glorious blush again, rising up Potter’s throat and colouring his cheeks a delectable hue. “That’s article was bullshit.”

“Hmm.” Draco refuses to believe it until he’s seen it. He’s not ashamed of the fact he used to give Potter the odd glance in the showers after Quidditch. There’s nothing to be ashamed of there. The thought of Potter’s heavy prick on his tongue makes him salivate and he has to have a bite of the empanadas so Potter doesn’t suspect he’s hopelessly besotted. “You’re out now, though. Perhaps not in the way you envisaged, but it must be a relief?”

“I suppose.” Potter takes a drink of his cocktail. He doesn’t pick it up, just leans across the table and takes the straw between his lips. It’s more charming than it has any right to be. “Would have been nice if I could have told the Weasleys myself first. Ginny, in particular.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “She’s hardly pining over you, Potter.”

“You don’t know anything about her.” There’s Potter’s fierce look, back again. The same one he got when he said _I’m not gay, you know_. That look. Ah, Draco remembers it well.

“Neither do you, apparently.” Draco gives Potter a look. “You do _know_ she’s been sleeping with Millicent for at least a year, I assume? She’s as queer as we are.”

Potter turns his eyes heavenward and eats another empanada, contemplating Draco. “She’s bi, actually. So she _could_ still be pining. I know about Millicent.” His lips curve into a smile. “I had beers with them both at The Witches Against Wands parade.”

“Of course you did.” Draco laughs. “She’s not pining.”

“No, I know.” Potter shrugs. “Still, I owed her a conversation before some pillock told the _Prophet_ I’m gay.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard you say that out loud before.” Draco tries to ignore the thrill the confirmation sends through him. There are few things he appreciates as much as Potter’s easy confidence. He likes all of it. The awkward moments, the confident proclamation of sexuality and the way Potter’s eyes turn a little bit darker when he looks at Draco for too long.

“That’s because I never said it to you before.” Potter has the decency to look sheepish. “I’m sorry about that. All that talk about being normal. It was…thoughtless. Not to mention bloody stupid.”

“You’re forgiven.” Draco sighs, fingering the lapel on his jacket. “I can’t expect everyone to be as enlightened as I am.”

“Sod off.” Potter snorts with laughter and moves on to his second drink. “These are good.”

“Aren’t they? Mojitos.” Draco watches the look of relaxed happiness on Potter’s face. He’s already lost something of that haunted look from his gaze, as if he’s finally somewhere he wants to be. Draco hopes so. He’s been hoping for such a long time. “I really was looking for you. I wasn’t joking or feeding you a line.”

“You were?” Potter stares at Draco. “Why?”

“Because.” Draco pulls a face. “You’re _Potter_. I’ve been waiting for you to have your come to Jesus moment since eighth year.”

“I’ve always had a thing for blonds.” Potter fiddles with his straw. “I think about those nights sometimes. They end differently, these days.”

“Do they?” Draco’s intrigued and heat floods through his body. Potter really shouldn’t be allowed to look this good, vulnerable and defiant all at the same time.

“A little bit.” Potter takes a breath. “I let you kiss me, for a start. You wanted to, I think.”

“A bit more than _kiss_ , Potter.” Draco gives Potter his best smirk. “Charming though that thought is.”

“Oh.” Potter laughs and it’s deep, rich and loud. “Well, maybe I let you do a bit more than that.”

“Really?” Draco can’t help but be facetious. It’s who he is, after all. Potter just needs to get used to it. “Did we hold hands and write each other little love notes? Perhaps I Transfigured a page from _Hogwarts: A History_ and made it into a rose.”

Potter hums, thoughtfully. His gaze is dark and intense and the heat of it makes Draco shiver pleasantly. “Yeah. It was a bit like that.” He sips his cocktail, pausing for a moment. “Plus, you sucked me off in the Prefect’s Bathroom once. Then there was that time you tied me up with your school tie and fucked me in Gryffindor Tower.”

Draco’s response isn’t so much actual words as a distressed _nnngh_ which is rather irritating. Potter’s not supposed to be the confident gay man making Draco come undone. He’s just not. Draco clearly needs to change the way this is going.

He reaches across the table and he takes Potter’s hand again, brushing his thumb against the spot where Potter’s thumb and forefinger meet. “If you want me to fuck you, Potter, you only have to say the word.”

Instead of unsettling Potter, the offer makes him grin. He finishes his drink with a slurp and catches the stray liquid with his thumb. It makes Draco think of all sorts of filthy things and _Merlin_ he’s having to adjust himself again. Going out for drinks with Potter is hard work on his cock which definitely shouldn’t be this hard in jeans this tight. 

“Come on, then. I bet you’ve got a fancy place somewhere nearby?”

“You bet your arse I do,” Draco mutters. He stands and throws a couple of Muggle notes on the table. He’s fairly certain he’s left an obscenely healthy tip, but he knows he’ll get it back in mojitos in the not too distant future. Hopefully with Potter sitting opposite him, putting all kinds of wonderful images in his head. Well-fucked Potter. Sated, lazy Potter. Potter _begging…._

“Which way next?” Potter’s eyes are flashing with mirth, damn him. His eyes linger a little too long on Draco’s crotch and he licks his lips. “I’d prefer a bed to another grotty loo if you can manage?”

“I can _manage_ just fine.” Draco huffs and grabs Potter’s hand. They walk through the streets until Draco’s breathless, Potter laughing softly beside him.

*

“Living room, bedroom, kitchen. The table’s glass and expensive. Try not to break it.” Draco practically shoves Harry through the door. _Harry_ they’d decided on the walk back might be a bit more intimate than _Potter_ and _Malfoy_. Draco pushes Harry against the wall after kicking the door shut. He kisses him, hard and searching. _This_ is what he was looking for. This was what he wanted when he searched under the lonely lights of London’s busy clubs. One face in a crowd. The one he’s never been able to forget, no matter how hard he tries.

It’s not long before his kisses have Harry groaning into his mouth, pushing against him and whispering _come on, come on, just fuck me_ like it’s even a possibility that Draco’s not going to do just that.

Draco squeezes the bulge between Harry’s legs and rubs his knuckles along the hard denim line. It leaves Harry bucking into him, his body a restless force to be reckoned with. Draco pulls back just enough to jerk his head in the direction of the bedroom. “Come on, I don’t want to fuck you against a wall. Bedroom. That way.”

“Bossy.” Harry winks at Draco, but he looks so well-kissed and his eyes are dark and pupils wide. Draco knows from the way he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth that he’s perhaps not as confident as he pretends to be. He thinks of Harry fumbling in the bathrooms with people for unsatisfactory handjobs, dancing his way around London looking for _something_. Draco’s not going to give Harry a _quick fuck behind the club_ experience. He’s going to pull out all the stops because for the first time in forever Draco’s fucking someone he wants to come back. Someone that’s wormed his way into Draco’s brain and heart and then just never left. Draco wants to keep him there, in the warm space in his chest which _beat, beats_ Harry’s name. He wants to keep him there for as long as he can.

He gets into the bedroom and Harry’s stripped off, lying across the sheets like some kind of fucking painting. It’s mouth-watering. It’s _perfect_.

“You’re such a slut for me, Potter.” Draco captures Harry’s lips in a fierce kiss after stripping out of his t-shirt and jacket, kicking off his shoes and socks in an untidy pile.

“Don’t be a prat.” Harry rolls his eyes, his cheeks flushed. “I’m not.”

“No.” Draco doesn’t know why he says it, but he traces his fingers along the hard line of Harry’s torso and it somehow feels just right. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

“I…” Harry’s voice is rougher than Draco’s ever heard it and he jerks up with a hiss. He swallows and Draco takes in the way his Adam’s apple works and his body arches pleasingly. He likes it. He likes being told he’s good. He likes being stretched out on Draco’s bed and he wants to please. Now Draco understands it, the wild almost desperate look in Harry’s eyes. He’s a seething mass of complications. He’s the bottom everyone assumes wants to top. He’s the submissive everyone wants to be dominated by. He’s just a little bit lost and desperately, heartachingly _perfect_ for Draco. 

“It’s okay,” Draco hears himself saying. Christ, he’s a fucking sap when he’s with Potter. “You can be a good boy. I like that.”

“You do?”

“I always did.” Draco’s not sure they’re talking about the same thing anymore. Harry’s eyes are so green and his body so hot and strong, Draco wants to taste every inch of him. “Turn over.”

“Can we…” Harry licks his lips, clearly torn between wanting to be good and asking for what he actually wants. “I want to see you.”

“You can. I’m not planning to fuck you. Yet.” Draco kisses Harry firmly and nudges him over onto his front. He makes his way down Harry’s back. He traces unexpected scars with his tongue until Harry’s shivering and pleading. He can feel Harry stroking himself slowly and squeezing, as if he wants to hold back. When he reaches the delectable crack of Harry’s buttocks, Harry’s whole body seems to tremble and still with one breathless gasp. Again, Harry and his mass of contradiction. Even his breathing is breathless.

“Draco, I can’t…wanted…” Harry heaves a breath, his face buried in the pillow. “I don’t want to come before you fuck me.”

Draco stills and he edges up, kissing Harry’s shoulder. He makes it sound like he doesn’t care when really he cares so much his whole body burns with it. “Will you…come back?”

“Here?” Harry shifts, turning so he can meet Draco’s eyes. “Yeah, I mean…I’d like to. I’ve only just found you again after all.” His lips tilt in an uncertain smile and it’s so full of _Harry_ it sends a swooping pleasure through Draco, making his heart beat erratically.

“I want you back here, all the time. In my bed. Against the wall. I’ll fuck you so hard, Potter.” _Love you so hard, too_ , Draco thinks, but it’s really too soon for that. God, a couple of cocktails and a bit of kissing and he’s already making moon-eyes. His heart’s no longer his own. Maybe it never was. “Just…come, whatever. I don’t care. I want it to be good. We’ll have plenty of time for fucking.”

The tension in Harry’s shoulders ebbs out of him and he nods, a brilliant smile on his face. “Yeah. I think we will. You’ll come to mine too?”

“Grimmauld Place? By rights I should own the place.” Draco snorts then gives Harry a quick kiss which turns into a long, desperate thing which leaves them both panting. He nudges Harry back over with a low growl because _enough_. He wants to make Harry come. He wants to touch Harry everywhere and he’s almost mad with need. He makes his way down Harry’s lean, glorious body and settles by his backside. With a low moan and a barely-there whisper of Harry’s name, he parts his cheeks. He slides his tongue along the crack and over Harry’s hole and luxuriates in the shudder of pleasure which runs through Harry’s body. He can feel the way Harry clutches at the sheets and rocks into the mattress as he begins to tongue at Harry. He can hear the breathy gasps and whispers of his name and _god_ he wants this so fucking much. Harry is musky and delicious, his skin soapy clean and his body a bucking, frantic, squirming piece of art beneath Draco’s fingertips. He uses his tongue until Harry’s right on the edge, pulling back at the cruellest of moments.

“What the _fuck_?” Harry’s words leave him in a throaty groan and Draco reaches for his bedside cabinet, not even bothering to pretend he’s anything other than completely blindsided by finally having Harry in his bed.

“One minute, just…” Draco finally gets the lubricant and slicks his fingers, pushing one inside Harry and drawing in a breath as Harry flexes and settles around him. “That’s better. Just…” He adds another finger, curling and pulling them back until Harry’s body tenses and shudders beneath him. It’s so fucking lovely watching Harry come. Draco wants to fuck him right there, but he also wants to tie Harry up and finger him until he’s coming untouched, murmuring about how _good_ Harry’s being. He turns Harry over and kisses him deep and hard, wrapping his slick fingers around his own cock and tugging until he comes hard over Harry’s legs.

“Wait…I wanted to…”

“Too many things, Potter.” Draco breathes into Harry’s neck, kissing the spot just beneath his ear. “There are too many things I want to do to you – and have you do to me – to accomplish them all in one night.”

“Like what?” Recovering a little, Harry tips his head into his palm and watches Draco. He leans over and runs his thumb over the sensitive tip of Draco’s prick, putting his thumb shamelessly in his mouth. His eyes flutter closed as he tastes Draco’s come, like he’s eating the finest chocolate. It’s sinful. It’s far, far too good. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to see you on your knees.” Draco finally gets his voice back and he runs his hand along Harry’s torso, pleased at how Harry twitches beneath him. “I want to fuck you, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Harry grins.

“I want to make you my _good boy_.” Draco’s voice is more ragged now, taking in Harry’s flushed cheeks and pupils blown wide. “I _definitely_ want to play around with that. See how many fingers you can take.” He slides his fingers down, noticing how Harry’s cock twitches with interest. “The things I want to do with you.”

“I could call you Daddy,” Harry offers, helpfully.

Draco snorts with laughter and he nuzzles into Harry’s neck, before kissing him so he can taste himself on Harry’s tongue. It’s better than any Muggle cocktail. “If you like.”

“How do you think you’ll fuck me?” Harry asks, as casually as if he’s asking what the weather’s looking like tomorrow.

“On your back, first of all.” Draco nips at Harry’s ear and it elicits a delightful shiver. “I’ve also had a rather persistent image in mind of you over my chaise-lounge with your hands tied.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Harry breathes. “I like the sound of that.”

“I’m also thinking of tying you up to the bed and fingering you until you come.” Draco’s the one that sounds flippant now and Harry’s the one squirming a little in place. 

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I might also want to have you on your knees one evening. Naked, while I’m fully clothed.”

Harry looks put out. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“I don’t know.” Draco shrugs. “You can sit between my legs and suck me off like a _good_ boy.”

“Oh, Christ.” Harry’s eyes are wide.

“Yes. Exactly.” Balance restored (thank fucking finally) Draco smirks and gives Harry a perfunctory kiss on the nose. “It’s probably best if we plan to meet up in those Muggle clubs we like next time. I don’t want to spend another god knows how many years hunting for you.”

“I think I can manage that.” Harry gives Draco a slow, heart-stopping smile. “Besides, you owe me a dance.”

“You owe me a drink.”

Harry grins. “We’re going to spend a lot of time together, with all this stuff we owe one another.”

Draco kisses Harry soundly.

He’s alright with that.

\+ + +

**Draco**

London’s gay bars have always been a safe haven. They might have been the places I went looking for Potter, but they were also the spaces I found myself. I joke about tired queens, but there’s nothing tired about them. Their energy astonishes me. They're part of me. It’s all a bit of fun, darling and nothing helps me come up with witty insults better than having someone as delectable as Potter by my side. Because he is, these days. By my side. We’re sickening and inseparable, apparently. They want us to form a boy-band. They also want to get me in drag, but that’s a different conversation.

We think about opening a pub somewhere in the East End, Harry and I. _Before it gets too expensive_ , he says. I laugh and blow him until he’s the kind of sated, lazy Harry-shaped body I love the best. The one who’s smile takes him by surprise. The one who looks at me in a way he thinks I don’t notice. The haunted look doesn’t leave entirely, perhaps it never will. He sees it in me too and that’s what makes us so fucking powerful. I’m happier with Harry than I’ve ever been without him and I just _love_ telling father how Harry and I went shopping for home furnishings in Muggle London. He was positively apoplectic. 

Harry had fun the first time we went to the Vauxhall Tavern. He said I sometimes sing Justin Bieber songs when he’s fucking me. Fucking Harry. If I didn’t adore him, I’d hate him relentlessly.

But I do.

Adore him.

Fucking Harry.

*

**Harry**

I never thought I’d live to be twenty-something and debating whether or not to open a Muggle gay bar with Draco Malfoy. I spent so long under the pulsing lights of London bars looking for something that I maybe already had.

Malfoy. Who would have thought? Ron certainly didn’t. He nearly turned green when I told him, but he hugged me anyway and asked what I thought of Millicent. I told him she’s great. Defeating the patriarchy one step at a time. He pulled a face and made us both cheese and onion toasties. I don’t think he likes to think about his sister’s sex life, which is fair enough. He wears these badges they make and always looks a bit put out by it all, but he still does it. Hermione’s right on board with everything and she’s asked if we’ll name a cocktail after her, if we ever open that bar. Obviously, we will. It’s going to be something brilliant and bookish. I might let Draco come up with the name. Books aren’t really my strong point and Draco reads them like they’re going out of fashion. Hermione spends hours talking to him about his collection. I’d be jealous, if I didn’t see the way Draco looks at me when we’re kissing, sucking and fucking. He doesn’t think I see it. His heart. But I do. 

The war’s still there. It never leaves, really. It’s easier though. There’s a lot more laughter now and a lot less dancing on my own. I didn’t think Muggles needed to know how to dance but Draco can. He’s so ridiculous. He’s got _all_ the moves. It drives me completely barmy. I tell everyone he’s trying to be a popstar and he throws salted peanuts at me.

The queens of a different generation don’t know about our world, but they tell us about theirs. They tell us about Stonewall and AIDS and Pride. They tell us their history and Draco and I take notes. I know Draco pretends he doesn’t care, but it’s important. We think about rainbow flags and do interviews with the _Prophet_. Our history is different to the men in the Vauxhall Tavern and the gorgeous Drag Queens who make our hearts beat faster. We don’t have the same fights they do, but we have battles of our own and we’re fighting them one step at a time. 

We got our dance, in the end. Hot and sweaty on the third floor of Heaven. Surrounded by beautiful boys, I only had eyes for one. I’m not usually such an unbearable romantic, but sometimes…

When we left someone offered us a rose for a fiver.

I got it. Draco said I got ripped off.

When I saw the look on his face as I handed it to him, I don’t think I did.

That look was priceless.

_~Fin~_


End file.
